Three times Kahlua changed the world
by Anatomy Melancholia
Summary: Bones, Angela and a bottle of Kahlua. Femmeslash.


Disclaimer: Someone else owns the show. I make no money off this.

AN: Written for a prompt in **comment_fic** at LJ: _Angela/Brennan, Kahlua_

--

The first thought Brennan has is that coffee is so much better than kahlua. It's not that kahlua is bad, it's just that it's _coffee-flavoured_ and somehow that tastes all wrong. Like humanoid, but not human. Maybe she's said that out loud because Ange glances at her and laughs.

The second thought Brennan has is that Ange seems to love the stuff. She frowns absently, trying to rationalize that assumption. Then her brow clears because Ange's tongue is sliding inside the glass, drawing lazy circles and licking up the sticky remnants. Okay then, Brennan thinks, and looks around to see who in the bar Ange might be performing for.

Brennan's third thought is that she's not sure whether it's more surprising to see Ange miscalculate her audience or the audience completely ignore Ange. She intercepts a sly wink and realizes that Ange hasn't been performing for the bar at all.

"Why are you winking at me?"

"Lawyers at three o'clock, sweetie."

"Oh." Brennan feels a little foolish - which is still a novel experience because it happens fairly rarely - because the lawyers are sitting right behind her. That explains why she hasn't noticed the usual biologically-motivated leers.

Her fourth thought, following hot on the heels of realization, is that she's surprised. So it didn't work out with Roxy - that doesn't surprise her. She was marginally surprised that it didn't work out with Hodgins, but she's more surprised that for a second she thought Ange was looking at her like that. And she _liked_ it.

--

The first thought Brennan has is that coffee is so much better than kahlua. It's not that kahlua is bad, it's just that it's _coffee-flavoured_ and somehow that tastes all wrong. Like humanoid, but not human. Maybe she's said that out loud because Ange glances at her and laughs.

Brennan smiles awkwardly in response, the corners of her mouth lifting at different times because her coordination is a little off at the moment; perhaps she shouldn't have had that much vodka.

It doesn't matter now because the thick, heavy liquid starts to trickle down the slope of Angela's hip and-- Brennan really loves these sheets. She lies back down across Angela's legs and chases the kahlua with her tongue. She never has second thoughts.

--

The first thought Brennan has is that coffee is so much better than kahlua. It's not that kahlua is bad, it's just that it's _coffee-flavoured_ and somehow that tastes all wrong. Like humanoid, but not human. Maybe she's said that out loud because Ange glances at her and laughs.

"That's somehow so..._you_," Angela says.

"I'm me, Ange. Who else would I sound like?" This is weird because Brennan's second thought is that it's Booth who usually has these pointless, intimate conversations with her. But Booth is recuperating in hospital and, this time, she doesn't want to stay and watch re-runs with him. Brennan doesn't want to think about the tumour, which is why she's here in Ange's apartment trying out all the alcohol she can. And Ange is her best friend.

No, that can't quite be right. Most of the time it feels like Booth is her best friend. The third thought sizzles in her brain and she tips the rest of the kahlua into her mouth.

"Whoa, sweetie. It looks harmless but it's about forty proof."

"Benign," Brennan says and to her surprise, she's slurring just a little.

"What's benign?"

"Harmless. Benign. Syn-no-nyms." The word remains whole and unmutilated.

"I know, I meant--. Here, have some more."

Angela's mouth is a deep red bow that parts and purses when she speaks. Soft lips, Brennan thinks, and she blinks away that fourth thought because it's _Ange_ and normally Brennan's lusting after Booth not-so-privately.

"It tastes terrible," she protests. "How can you drink this?"

Ange's doing that wicked smile with her top teeth cutting into her lower lip, like she's debating something.

"It can be an acquired taste," she says, and Brennan notices that the far-away haze in her eyes makes her look even more elfin. "Sometimes you need some help to acquire the taste," Angela says and leans forward suddenly.

Brennan's sixth and last lucid thought of the evening is that they're both right. Ange does have soft lips and kahlua tastes amazing on them.


End file.
